


Anything

by mg0918



Series: Bellarke drabbles [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Post 2x08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 18:33:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3081401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mg0918/pseuds/mg0918
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This idea has probably been done before but I decided to take a crack at it! I usually only write for myself so sorry if it isn't very good.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Anything

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has probably been done before but I decided to take a crack at it! I usually only write for myself so sorry if it isn't very good.

Anything

Clarke can feel the life draining from Finn as he slumps forward onto her shoulder, oddly calm as she distantly recognizes the warm gush of blood wetting her hands. His last words to her echo in her head as she stumbles backwards and away from his body.

She looks up to see Lexa staring at her with a grudging respect and even with admiration. She holds up her hand and her warriors immediately move back to let Clarke through.

She slowly makes her way back to the camp. A haze of fog has clouded her vision and she stumbles forward blindly, feeling like she’s wading through quicksand as her legs buckle and trip under her. There’s also a weight pressing down on her chest, a dark, churning weight like a vice grip around her lungs making each breath is a battle.

As she walks back through the gates of the camp, everyone parts in front of her with the same grim expression painted on their faces. It’s silent except for the wails coming from Raven, who has collapsed on the ground but surges up at the sight of Clarke. Raven starts to run towards her. 

“YOU PROMISED ME!” She shrieks. “YOU PROMISED ME YOU WOULD SAVE HIM!” 

Raven lashes out at Clarke but just misses her head. Octavia grabs her arms before she can try again and half drags, half carries her away to her tent, whispering softly to her and rubbing her back.

Clarke stands still and looks up to see Bellamy approaching her with his palms up in front of him cautiously. She can make out his anxious and concerned face through the din. He starts to tug on Clarke’s hand, and at first she just stares at him blankly before looking down.

Oh.

The blood-covered knife is still clutched in her fist. She frowns and tries to open her fingers but they won’t move. Bellamy seems to understand, and gently- more gently than Clarke ever thought he was capable of- pulls open her fingers and takes the knife. 

And then he just looks at her. He looks at her without a hint of accusation or judgment in his gaze. He looks grim, but Clarke numbly thinks that she can detect a hint of fierce pride in his eyes.

He places a hand between her shoulders and slowly leads her to the med tent, where he takes a wet rag and gently starts washing Finn’s blood off her hands. Bellamy starts to say something but it’s muffled and all that Clarke can hear is a distant ringing in her ear.

The weight on her chest starts to get heavier, and her lungs start to spasm as she struggles to take in a breath. Tears spill down her face as she shivers and sways unsteadily where she stands, and is remotely aware of Bellamy darting to catch her as she pitches forward. As the darkness closes in, she can feel herself being carried away.

 

She wakes up screaming. It’s a raw, violent scream that burns her throat. It fades into a shriek, and then to deep, shuddering sobs that sound like they’re being ripped from her lungs as they wrack her body. She’s struggling to breath and it feels like she’s being torn in two. 

Almost instantaneously, Bellamy bursts into her tent with wild eyes, hair that’s still mussed and sticking up from his pillow, and a wrench clenched in one of his fists as a makeshift weapon.  

When he sees Clarke curled up into a ball, sobbing and trying to hold herself together, he drops the wrench and hurries to her. He stops just short of her bed, anxiety written plainly across his face as he frantically tries to think of what she needs. She looks up and his stomach twists at the sight of her crumpled face. 

He sits next to her on the bed and pulls her to his chest, like he used to do when Octavia was small. He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, how long her face is pressed to his shoulder, soaking his shirt with tears as he rubs her back. It seems like forever, but her breathing slowly calms against him, and once he thinks she’s asleep he lowers her slowly and covers her with a blanket.

As he’s getting up to leave, he feels her grab his hand.

“Bellamy?”

He turns back to see her looking up at him. She’s pale and drawn, and her face is so wracked with misery and the reality of her actions that Bellamy’s heart breaks for her a little.

“Stay, please.”

“Anything you need, Princess.” He says softly.

He sits back down on the bed and strokes her hair. As she’s drifting off to sleep he starts to hum a lullaby, one he used to use to put Octavia to sleep. It’s low and melodic and sounds like the rushing of the river. It starts to lull her to sleep and her eyelids finally close.

She wakes up the next morning to find him asleep on the ground next to the bed with his jacket bunched up under his head like a pillow. When he wakes, he stands, touches her hair softly, and heads for the tent entrance.

She whispers her thanks, and she thinks he doesn’t hear it, but he does.

  
  


Her mother visits that day. So do Bellamy, Octavia, Monty, and Jasper. Raven stays away.

She doesn’t say much while they’re there. They all bring food, but she refuses it. After twenty minutes of refusing a handful of nuts from Bellamy (“It’s a fucking handful of  _ nuts _ , Clarke, don’t make me force feed you”), he marches out towards the woods with a determined look on his face.

Two hours later, he comes back with rabbit meat that’s been freshly cooked. She tries to resist at first, because who cares about food when Finn is dead and when she can still feel his blood seeping through her fingers even though it’s long been cleaned off, but eventually she gives in. She bites into it gratefully, savoring the flavor. Bellamy smiles triumphantly.  
That night, Clarke wakes up screaming again. Bellamy hurries in, looking grim rather than frantic. He doesn’t hesitate to sit and pull her to him. She balls up his shirt in her fists as she cries. He rests his chin on the top of her head so that she can’t see just how deeply her sobs are affecting him. He clenches his jaw harder with each wail. He knows she doesn’t want to talk, but she needs to hear what he has to say.

“It’s not your fault, Clarke.” She was silent for a few moments before she responds.

“I couldn’t save him.” She replies, her voice still thick with tears. 

“Bullshit, what you did was merciful.”

She doesn’t respond this time, instead choosing to lean her head against his chest wearily and let herself drift to sleep. She thinks she feels him kiss the top of her head, but it’s probably just a dream. 

 

In the morning, she tells him she wants to go back to the med tent to work. He crosses his arms and shakes his head adamantly.

“Absolutely not.”

“But Bellamy I-”

“No, Clarke, . Everything you’ve done since we landed on Earth has been about helping others. Take time for yourself. You need it.”

“But-”

“Sorry, Princess. Not gonna happen. Not today, not tomorrow, not for a little while.”

She purses her lips, and Bellamy expects her to yell but instead she nods resignedly. He fights back a frown, because the Clarke he knows would fight, but she conceded to eating almost a full meal this morning and he’ll take what little progress he can. 

 

The next night, Clarke wakes to find him already laying on the ground next to her bed. When she reaches out to grab his hand he rouses immediately. This becomes the routine, and for the next week he sleeps next to her bed every single night. Sometimes they talk, sometimes they don’t.

 

Ten days after Finn’s death, Clarke wakes up gasping for air. The weight in her chest is growing heavier and heavier and each breath has to be dragged from her lungs. Her calls for Bellamy leave her lungs as short, mangled gasps. She grabs his hand and he wakes immediately.

“I can’t breathe.” She croaks

He shoots up and grabs her face with both hands, forcing her to look him in the eyes.

“I need you to breathe with me, Clarke. Focus on my voice, okay? Hold your breath for a few seconds and then let it out slowly.”

She does what he says and after a minute or two her breathing returns to normal. He exhales heavily and pulls her close, more for his benefit this time than hers. He rubs small circles on her back until she falls asleep.

 

The next night is the worst.

She wakes up screaming, but then she starts to shake so violently that she can’t move or speak. She grabs for Bellamy.

He’s panicking; he doesn't know what it is that she needs, but she’s silently pleading for help. So he helps.

He kicks off his shoes, climbs into her bed, and pulls her tightly to his chest. He wraps his arms securely around her and tucks her head under his chin. The feel of his heartbeat under her cheek calms her, and even when her panic subsides, he doesn’t let go. She doesn’t ask him to, either.

Instead, she buries her face in his chest and breathes him in. He smells like rain. She trails her fingers across his shoulder. He is warm, he is solid, he is her anchor. 

He rubs her back as she drifts to sleep. She’s so thin that he can start to feel the outlines of her ribs as his fingers drift along her spine. He frowns to himself, he’ll have to try harder to get her to eat more.

 

The next night, he doesn’t say anything, he just climbs into her bed. She curls up next to him and throws an arm around his chest.

He wakes first this time, to the sound of Clarke murmuring Finn’s name in her sleep. Suddenly his mouth tastes bitter; he knows that Clarke is grieving but he really, really hates Finn. He went and fucked up and now Clarke is left to deal with the consequences, to blame herself, to clean up his mess. 

Bellamy doesn’t want to wake her, but odds are that if he doesn’t she’ll most likely wake up screaming. He shakes her shoulder gently until she blinks blearily up at him.

“How am I supposed to get any shut-eye if you keep talking in your sleep, Princess?” He teases softly. She grimaces.

“Sorry.” She turns her head back to his chest.

“Clarke?”  
“Bell?”

“What were you saying to him, ya know, before…”

“I told him that I loved him.”

“Oh.” His heart sinks.

“Did you? Love him, I mean.”

“No.” His heart soars.

“Why did you say it?”

“He needed to know that he was loved. Even if it I didn’t, Raven did, or does. He needed to hear it.”

“Are you sure you didn’t love him?”

“I couldn’t, Bell, not after what he did. He wasn’t Finn, anymore.”

Bellamy worries this will bring a fresh wave of tears, so he holds her tighter, and absentmindedly trails his fingers up and down her arm. She hums contentedly, already falling asleep.

 

The next day, as Clarke is tidying her tent, Raven walks in slowly. Startled, Clarke just stands there opening and closing her mouth not knowing what to say.

“I came to say thank you,” Raven started nervously, “he would have suffered if the grounders had their way, and you saved him even though you think you didn’t.” Her face crumpled and she started to cry.

“It’s just that he was all I had.”

Clarke throws her arms around Raven and hugs her tightly, relief easing the weight on her chest the tiniest bit. 

 

That night, when he comes to her tent, Clarke looks up and smiles for the first time in nearly two weeks. It’s just the pale shadow of the smile he’s used to and it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, but the effect is dazzling. She sees relief break over his face and scoops her into his arms. She’s actually laughing and he could swear up and down that it’s the most enthralling sound he’s ever heard in his goddamn life. 

He lets out a sigh of relief that feels like it’s been held in for the last two weeks. Smiling, he bumps his forehead against hers and sets her down gently. 

“Thank you, Bell, really.” He looks down at her with firm affection and smiles.

“Like I said before, anything you need, Princess.”

That’s when he realizes. That’s when they both realize what’s there. But it would be too much right now, he knows it and she knows it. Despite her almost smile and her laugh, she's too fragile and her eyes still look hollow. Anything more and she’ll break. She’s still raw and he wants to be cautious, so he settles for kissing the top of her head softly and for the promise of what’s to come. He turns to leave.

“Bellamy?”

“Clarke?”

“Will you come back tonight? I’ve gotten used to sleeping next to someone.” She flushes slightly as she asks, but her gaze is steady. 

He smiles.

“Anything you need, Princess.”

 

And he does come back that night. The lay awake in bed for hours, her laying her head against his chest and tracing the outline of his collarbone, and him skimming her shoulder and back with his fingertips. She falls asleep with his heartbeat thumping under her cheek.

It’s the first time in two weeks that she sleeps completely through the night. 


End file.
